


Battlescore

by baeberiibungh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, At the bunker, Established Relationship, Games, Human Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:22:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7812316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeberiibungh/pseuds/baeberiibungh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hurmphed loudly like a broken trumpet, turned around his body first and then his big head and stalked away. Cas could only look on in bemusement...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battlescore

**Author's Note:**

> Think of them like those lego characters with revolving bodies but the heads are as big as their whole body and the tanks are the fucking cutest!

There was the loud click that signalled the next instalment of the battle and the armies set out. Gingerbread like physique with two dimensional steps so that everyone hopped around with rifles leaning over their shoulder in the same colour as them. The heads were round to look at, the body simple shapes and they made up the whole armies. The tanks were neon colours and when they fired, sparkles and firework burst from them and set the whole place alight. The only ones with any particular features were Commander Winchester and Commander Novak. Commander Winchester was in charge of the blue team and Commander Novak was in charge of the green team. And when the bang went off, both armies would start fighting.

Again.

The tanks came out, equal tanks for each team. The team who managed to take out the most tanks would be declared winner with loud music from heavens above and food confetti. The food was very welcome to the Commanders as their armies did not quite need sustenance, being the playdoh version of plastic soldiers. Each tank was flanked by 10 – 15 soldiers and it was their duty to light the cannon like tanks. With the tip of their shapelessly rifle shaped rifles. Commander Winchester, or Dean as he liked to call himself when talking in the third person, because there was no one else to talk to or with except Commander Novak and Novak’s dialogue was just a mess of swears and profanities, used to find that odd.

Not anymore. There is more to being a commander than being a bobble head player in a 24 bit game like existence, it was about shrieking at the army in tiny trumpeting voices that actually made no sense. It was spying on Commander Novak as he tried to sip empty bowls of tea or coffee or drainwater (Sadly in this world, there was no need or existence of a liquid diet, even though Dean remembered things like tea or coffee or drainwater and evidently did Commander Novak too). It was wanting to go near Commander Novak and hip check him so that he would tumble over and roar like a tiny elephant knowing too many, way too many slang for bashing one’s head in.

It was also Commander Novak some nights stealing into Commander Winchester’s tent, flimsy like paper, heck, it was paper, and try to shove him off the bed so that Commander Novak, or Cas as Dean was wont to call him, could sleep in Dean’s bed while Dean would watch owlishly at being suddenly shoved from his bed so. He would get back in again and they would indulge in a little fisticuff that often resulted in both just falling asleep, pressed as near to the other as possible and then come morning or the loud sound to commence another battle, Cas would scuttle away on his stubby little round peg legs and Dean would look on, a little sad, a little mad and a little glad.

The next battle was the same. Firing the tanks where Dean directed and the men and tanks moving to escape the retaliatory fire from the other side. The ground would become potholed and lumpy and the tanks would crumble into shiny neon pieces littering the battle ground, but come the next battle, everything would be spic and span and the tanks sparkling so much that eyes hurt. Most probably. Once all the tanks on one side were decimated, the other side would win and retreat for the next battle. It was repetitive, boring and hell on the vocal cords that had to shout non stop at the teensy pin sized armies to both motivate and move them to get on with their next battle.

When Cas came over that night to sleep with Dean after the usual fight over the small bed, Dean was not in the bed, but sitting on a chair, his brow in furrows as he scowled darkly at the ground. Cas came in and shoved at Dean, but Dean just rocked a bit before sitting as before. So Cas leaned in himself and said in a clear voice, “Dean you the fuck need to wake up right this fucking minute,” in this totally awesome gravelly voice that made Dean blink many times in sheer amazement. However of replying, Dean just hurmphed loudly like a broken trumpet, turned around his body first and then his big head and stalked away. Cas could only look on in bemusement after him.

Dean went out and started shrieking like a demented poodle, making his army clash in soft plastic thuds as they moves from one side to the other. The ground started to shake under their feet, rumbling with loud sounds unlike the click that started their battles. Dean still kept on shouting, his tiny face screwed up into a pug’s ass as he crowed loud and long and set the air ablaze by sheer determination. Chunks started falling down and knock the soldiers about. There was no sound from the faceless mass, but their frantic need to move and save themselves was evident in how they were running about, their rifles waving in the air. Dean was still shouting till he could no longer breathe, the world winking out in a sudden darkness.

The next breath Dean pulled, he was sitting in a filled bathtub, filled with melting ice chips, skin nearly blue from the cold and shivering like a new born foal. Near him sits Cas, in one of Dean’s old soft tee and drawstring pyjamas while he could hear Sam move about in the kitchen, clanging the pots and pans, possibly making something to feed Dean or to throw on him. Dean gasps and wheezes and says, “Get me up Cas,” which Cas does, his hands holding on to Dean very tight so that he doesn’t fall down. “What happened?” Dean asked, still befuddled as Sam came over, plain relief on his face as he saw his brother walking and talking, hands holding on to Cas.

“You fucking played that tank game for 36 hours and fucking fell over you fucking idiot! Thank god Cas was around and called me. That’s it, you are banned for playing games for the year now,” Sam thundered, put out at Dean’s action. Dean whined at that and leaned more heavily against Cas. He would get back at Sam for yelling, see if he doesn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> sigh. i don't kno. Thanks for reading. No beta. kudo and comment please good folks.


End file.
